Stable Boy
by Aleca
Summary: In an AU where Jean is a nobleman's son and Marco is his stable hand. (oneshot)


Everything about the night seemed off. The barn was silent, more so than usual. Jean noticed that the creak in the door had been fixed and it seemed as though all the horses were asleep, for not a peep could be heard from any of the stalls. The lantern flickered as he opened the door from the outside. The cold air tried to make its way in. His steps seemed dampened by the dusty floor that never seemed to be clean. "Marco?" He breathed in the familiar scent of old wood and barn animals.

Movement could be heard from around the corner as Jean shut the door. Moments later a dark haired boy appeared, his warm smile melted any chills he'd felt from the outside. "Hey Jean, the others left about an hour ago. I told them I could handle myself tonight."

Jean smiled, "Great. Then no one will bother us."

Marco rolled his eyes, "They wouldn't dare bother you. They could lose their job." He gave Jean a peck on the cheek and watched a frown bore into his lips. "What's wrong? Does the Lord have another big plan for us?"

Jean shook his head, "I don't want to talk about it tonight all right?" He dumped his coat on the floor, not caring about the dirt..

Marco was persistent however and stepped away from Jean when he tried to go for a hug. "Not until you tell me the problem. Maybe I can help." He crossed his arms and watched Jean's face contort into annoyance. A horse slammed its leg into the wall of the stall and whinnied. It must have been their way inviting the other animals to join in the noise.

"You can't do anything about it Freckles, just drop it."

"You know it helps to talk about things."

"I said-"

"Come on Jean I'm just trying to-"

"He's making me get married all right!"

Marco fell silent at the words, not able to comprehend them.

"He's arranging a marriage to The Lord Demin's daughter. He says its for the good of our people. He says I'll be happy. He says that I have to and its my duty as his son. Marco you know who Demin is?! He's a thief to his people, almost more so than the Lord. Imagine our families together! Everyone will starve. And...And...what about you?! How can I be with this person when we have to be apart?"

There was nothing except the rustling of the animals for a long time and then, "You'll have to do it Jean." It was quiet, almost inaudible. But every word seemed like a dagger driving through Jean's skin. "Its your duty. This was never going to last anyway, one day we both knew that something like this would take us apart…"

Jean's fists clenched. Marco's words driving the blade in even deeper. "We could just leave…"

Before he realized what was happening a burning sensation lit his cheek. "How could you say something like that?!" Marco yelled. Jean stood in shock, realizing what an idiot he was. All Marco had ever talked about was how he was going to make a better world for his people when he took his father's place. He knew Marco felt strongly about it. He had since the day they had met.

"_Don't you ever think that there's more you could do?"_

It had been strange. No one had ever questioned him before. And now here, someone he could have beheaded had asked him about how he was going to rule. Looking back, the words that he had responded with were foolish and unknowing.

"_It seems fine to me. There is food on my table and there is clothes on everyone's back."_

Jean remembered the look of shock Marco had given him for such an answer. He remembered the inferior feeling that began to creep in when all he received was silence. If he had been as impulsive as he had been when he was younger, Marco wouldn't have been his stable hand for much longer after that conversation. But the freckled boy's words had intrigued him and even though his words had been harsh; from that moment, Jean could never get enough.

"_For someone who is going to rule, you have a lot of learning to do."_

It had been some time after that Jean began to make regular visits to the barn. Jean would tell Marco that he just enjoyed to ride. However, Marco could easily see through the veil thin lies.

"_For someone who is supposed to be brushing my horse, you seem to talk a lot."_

That had been the first time he had seen Marco with anything other than a frown on his face, and just the thought of his smirk made Jean smile. He wanted to see it transform completely.

"_I want my voice to be heard."_

"_My father would behead you for that."_

"_Something tells me you aren't your father."_

Everyone always told him how he would grow up to be just like the man. Most had complimented how they even looked similar. But every time he would talk to this stable hand, he would let himself wonder if he could be anything different.

"Marco, I'm sorry…" he trailed off, looking at the dusty floor. Marco's eyes visibly softened at the other's apologetic tone.

"I know you're scared Jean...but we need you." Marco pulled him into a hug, trying to comfort the other. They moved to the floor, a comfortable silence seeming to set in. The barn animals had seemed to quiet as well. Frogs and crickets could be heard chirping cheerily outside.

Marco let the other prop himself up against his side. "Did you try talking to him?" Marco knew as well as Jean that there was no such things as reasoning with the Lord. The malicious man was a tyrant and he only thought about himself in profits that should have gone to his people. He felt Jean's head move to his shoulder and a few words were mumbled. Marco didn't have to hear them to know they were most likely profanity. "I'm going to assume that was a no," Marco said softly, running a stressed hand through his hair.

After what seemed like a long time Jean finally spoke. "I tried to reason with him...or postpone it..but he said it was already planned and there was nothing I could do."

It took all Marco had to breathe out the next question. His chest tightened and voice was wavering, he spoke.

Tomorrow.

It was all going to end.

"Well then," Marco choked. "I guess I'll have to clean up in here. The horses will need cleaning up extra nicely. We can't have dirt on them can we?" The freckled boy stood up, face in a forced smile. It was painful for Jean to watch. Marco turned his back and went to grab his broom.

"Marco wait-"

"And I suppose the Lord will want the floors swept. The dust built up in here never stops."

"Marco I-"

"And you'll need nice clothes. You were always useless at picking them out yourself. I bet Rita helped didn't she? She is a genius when it comes to style."

"Freckles," Jean pleaded.

The moment that Marco turned around was the moment that Jean's heart dropped from his chest. The tight smile was stills on the other's face, but now tears were coming down in a steady stream. Jean opened his mouth, wanting to tell the other that it would be all right, but he knew it would be a lie. Nothing would ever be all right, and they both knew it.

"Put down the broom," Jean walked over and lightly lifted it from the other's hands. After leaning it against the wall he swept Marco into his arms and started to sway.

"Theres no music," Marco whispered, lying his head on Jean's shoulder.

Wordlessly, Jean began to hum. Gradually the wet spots on his shoulder began to dry, and Marco lifted his head off his shoulder. A genuine smile appeared on his face, but the tear tracks were prominent down his cheeks. "Your voice isn't right for singing Jean."

Jean pretended to look offended, "You're one to talk." They stopped swaying, music source gone.

"_That is the worst singing I've ever heard." _Jean had snuck into the stables without Marco noticing. It had been warm that day and the barn doors had been wide open.

"_I bet you couldn't do better."_ Marco had been washing the horse and didn't even bother to look up at him.

"_Rude,"_ Jean had rolled his eyes and sat down on the side of a stall, watching the other work. They had spent the rest of the afternoon laughing at how neither of them could carry a tune, but there was one song they had agreed Jean could sing pretty well. It was wordless and it was probably the reason it sounded all right.

"Do you remember when we..." Jean knew he didn't need to finish his sentence to know that Marco was remembering the same things. It only postponed what they both knew was coming however. Soon Jean would be missed and they would leave each other for the last time.

He pulled Marco into a kiss, not wanting to waste his last opportunity. The moonlight seemed to light up the barn through the musty old window and the lit up old wood, making it look new again.

Neither of them noticed the rustling of leaves or the shadow that quickly passed the window, blocking out the light momentarily. Neither of them saw as a lantern seemed to fade into the night. Neither of them could have guessed at what happened next.

Jean wandered out into the hall, stomach growling. There was always food in the kitchen and someone was on staff just for the purpose of Jean's tendency to have more than a few midnight snacks. He could almost smell the warm bred that their cook made at night so she wouldn't have to do it in the morning. It always tasted more heavenly when he got to it now though. The lantern light seemed to flicker, moving the shadows that seemed to dance across the room into angry shapes and then back again. Jean ignored it, it was common sight.

He turned a corner knowing that he would have to cut through the main entrance hall if he wanted the quickest way to the kitchens. Strangely enough, there was a brilliant light coming from the end of the hall. It wasn't an uncommon sight, his father had a tendency to add an over dramatic flair to everything, therefore; he liked to do his 'business' in the hall. Normally however, he would have a guard warn Jean not to leave his room before that room was stained red. He heard a faint echo of his father's voice. "He will never listen to you!"

The anger laced within the words sent shivers down his spine. He quickened his pace, wanting to catch a peek at whomever had gone and angered the wrong person.

"Please Sir! That was never my intention!" the voice sounded familiar and he could feel his blood run cold. Shaking his head defiantly, he continued slowly down the hall. His father had no quarrel with Marco.

"You piece of shit!"

Slowly, he poked his head around the corner. The main entrance had two grand staircases. They were placed on each wall to frame the room. Between was a landing on the second level and the cast iron railing reflected the light of the dazzling chandelier hovering above the marble floor. Sitting directly in the middle of the room was his father, one guard on either side. Kneeling before him and staring at the ground was a dark haired boy.

Jean resisted the urge to vomit, clapping a hand over his mouth.

"It wasn't my intention, you have to believe me-" Marco was cut off as one of the guards dealt a punishing blow to his ribs. He gripped his side, pain blossoming over his features.

"Marco!" Jean finally moved from the spot he'd been glued to. He began to bolt down the staircase, not letting his sights fall anywhere but Marco. His freckled face let a genuine smile fall over it as the other tried to stop what he knew was inevitable.

Jean's father took action when he saw his son. He ripped a sword off one of the guard's belts and raised it above his head with practiced ease. He heaved it, starting at one end of Marco's neck and ending at the other.

There was a moment where everything to stop. Jean opened his mouth to let out a scream, but nothing came out. The chilled feeling that had been running through his veins before turned to boil. All the anger and hatred he'd felt for the man came bursting to the top and sorrow wracked his entire body. He was once again frozen, not knowing what to do. Time seemed to speed up again and Jean clenched his fists.

"Why?" he whispered. It echoed off the walls. The question reverberated back to him.

His father turned to him, a toothy smile getting larger by the second. "I have to protect my investments. This boy was going to get in my way, ruining my plans." He stated it as though it were the most natural thing in the world. He looked back at the bloodied mess he'd made and dropped the sword into it. The clang it made as it hit the glistening marble was deafening.

"I was going to leave him," his father didn't seem to be listening. He waved the guards off and they obediently left the room. "Did you hear me you bastard!?" Jean's voice steadily rose, "I was going to leave him. I was going to be a good little bitch and now-"

His father slapped him. He stumbled back, slipping on the smooth red liquid that seemed to be coating the ground. It began soaking into his clothes, staining his hands just like it had stained his soul.

"A good son never speaks back to his father," he growled.

A raw smell lit his sense on fire as he grabbed the blade his father had dropped. The warm crimson liquid now covered most of the blade and the hilt felt slippery in his grasp.

There was a loud thud as his father his the ground, creating his own pool of red. Jean put his hands over his eyes and sat down between the two bodies. His reason was gone and his commander had fallen. He was left alone.

* * *

Jean wandered down the stairs of the subway. His headphones were blasting in his ears. Everyone he passed seemed to be familiar somehow, but he couldn't place it. The screeching sounds of the trains rang through the tunnels even making it past the sounds of his music. Jean glanced up from the ground and almost stopped.

Freckles, they gave him a sense of deja vu. This boy though, his dark hair, his tall stature, his warming smile...he was exactly who he'd seen in his dreams. A name passed his lips before he could stop himself, and he began dashing to the train. "Marc-" He stopped dead in his tracks.

The burning in his heart and the color in his cheeks, it hadn't been a dream. He knew this had taken place. The feeling couldn't be fake, and that meant that everything that had happened…

He looked back up at Marco and watched as he stepped on to the train...watched it leave.

Jean wouldn't go looking for him. Even if he did remember, he knew Marco wouldn't hold a grudge, he wasn't that type of person. He knew that he and Marco could probably be happy in this new age, they could be together and openly. The thought of it made a bolt of happiness shoot through his heart but it was quickly shot down. He couldn't do it. Jean had caused him so much pain and he would never forgive himself. He would never want Marco to go through that again.

Grabbing his ipod from his pocket, he turned down the music and changed the song. An old melody began to play. It was an awful recording but he had never cared. It had always made him feel better, now he remembered why.


End file.
